


In Times Like These

by Meltha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Gen, Uneasy Allies, alternate year 6, mentions of Draco/Pansy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2011-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war with Voldemort has begun, Harry and Draco are given a different perspective... literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Times Like These

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters are owned by J. K. Rowling and her subsidiaries. No copyright infringement or monetary gain intended.
> 
> Written prior to the release of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ , so completely divergent from canon after that.

The Great Hall was a very subdued place during dinner that March evening. The false sky overhead was drizzling morosely, and the feeling of gloom pervaded the students and staff. Their numbers had become smaller this year. Many students had fallen prey to the newly risen Voldemort as the evil wizard tried to take his revenge on Albus Dumbledore by hurting his students. The Head Master’s eyes rarely twinkled anymore, and the wizarding community believed him when he said they could win this war. But they knew the truth: win or lose, there would be casualties on both sides, and good people would mourn.

Harry looked at the vacant spots where Seamus and Dean should have been, blinked back tears, and continued automatically bringing cauliflower to his mouth. Their absense was still painfully new, their deaths occuring barely a week before. Hermione had decided against joining the sadly depleted numbers in the hall that day, choosing instead to wrap a few chicken legs in a napkin and eat in Gryffindor tower, reading book after book in a vain attempt to find something useful. Ron was in the hospital wing with a fairly minor injury from Quidditch and would be back by morning, but for tonight, Harry felt the emptiness around him bitterly.

It was an interesting side effect of having so many blank places that the houses were able to see each other more clearly than before. When Harry looked up from his flagon of pumpkin juice once more, he realized with a start that Draco Malfoy was seated opposite him at the next table. The other boy was gazing at him intently, his eyes seeming to bore through him, and although it was obvious from Draco’s untouched plate that he had been engaged in staring at him for some time without being noticed, Harry’s discovery of being watched hadn’t fazed him in the slightest.

Draco’s eyes had always been easy to read, it seemed. Hatred, pride, anger, even fear tended to be written large in those gray-blue depths, but tonight, under the flickering and almost funereal glow of the suspended candles, Harry couldn’t quite tell what was going on in his enemy’s mind.

When Draco picked up his plate and flagon and abruptly walked across the aisle separating the two tables to sit across from Harry at the Gryffindor table, he was stunned. Harry glared at him, reaching for his wand under the table to ward off any sudden jinxes, but Draco did nothing more menacing than put a fork of mashed potatoes in his mouth. It was unsettling. Normally, Harry knew exactly how to handle Malfoy, and it usually involved yelling, hexing, and the occasional punch to the gut. But this was just plain bizarre.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry said in a low voice, not wanting to draw attention to himself in the relative quiet that hung in the hall.

“Eating,” Draco responded flatly as he tore a bite out of a dinner roll.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his volume still soft but his tone rather deadly. “I can see that. Why aren’t you eating with your little Death Eater friends?”

Draco stopped chewing for a moment, and an emotion flitted across his face, a shadow that was there and gone so quickly it could have been a trick of the light. Harry wanted it to be a trick of the light, because to see those pointed, aristocratic features become for even a second frozen in a look of true sadness and something like pain was too disturbing to think about. But it was only for a moment, then Draco schooled his voice and face into something even and controlled, perhaps too controlled.

“They got Pansy, you know,” he said in a tone that was a bit too conversational. “Apparently, the Dark Lord isn’t all that fussed about pure bloods being preserved after all.”

Harry nodded dimly. “It was never about that, you know. Voldemort wants power for its own sake.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that point when my girlfriend’s body turned up slashed into ribbons in the astronomy classroom,” Draco spat viciously. “If I want to talk to a pompous know-it-all, I’ll book some time with Granger.”

Harry grunted. “And again, I’m asking what the bloody hell you’re doing here, Malfoy.”

A flash of anger went across the boy’s face, but it seemed as though the energy drained out of him immediately. He put his fork down, for all the world as if it was too heavy to lift again, and settled his eyes on the tablecloth.

“I’m tired of it,” he said simply.

“Of what?”

“Of my father’s long-winded speeches about the sanctity of old wizarding blood, of my mother’s letters telling me Pansy died a hero’s death in the cause of order,” Malfoy said in a strangely rational voice. “There’s got to be something that makes more sense.”

Harry looked at him for a long time, really looked, and he realized his eyes had darkened circles under them, his shoulders a slight slump, his face an uncharacteristically haggard appearance.

“I just want to understand,” Draco finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “I can get that.”

They finished the meal in silence, no other words passing between them, but it was understood somehow that when the rose from the table again, they had formed a tentative, paper-thin bond of understanding. In the months to come, it would prove to be a highly valuable asset.


End file.
